


Blood Runs Gold

by Jenry_Morgan



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Detective/Medical Examiner Procedural, F/M, Mortinez, jenry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4038151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenry_Morgan/pseuds/Jenry_Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all face death at some point in our lives. For some it may come unexpectedly, taken from everything in an instant. For others perhaps, it comes in good time, with a life well lived; but there is also a feeling of lifelessness that is rooted in our soul, one we only discover when tragedy stabs us to the very core and we are left bleeding with a wound no one can heal. For some, the same emptiness lingers in heartbreak, when love is lost or not felt at all. I have known both, but I can tell you that for me, the latter sensation is far more painful than any physical suffering I have endured. For I have been granted the misfortune of eternity and while time never runs out, deep love is lost to its ticking rhythm. ~Henry Morgan</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had so much love for Forever bursting inside me that I had to conjure up my own mysterious murder for the the handsome, fascinating, immortal Dr. Morgan to solve. This is a full case procedural, written with as much of the same flow as an episode would be. With Forever currently cancelled, hopefully this feels kind of like watching the show. Oh, and I may ship Jenry (Mortinez) just a little. ;) 
> 
> The idea for this story honestly came to me in an instant at three in the morning. What was my mind even up to, Forevering at that hour? 
> 
> I'm very proud of how this fanfic is turning out to be and I spend a long time creating/writing it. So please, no claiming this work as your own. This story is in it for the whole run. I'll be posting chapters as regularly as I can, so check back. 
> 
> Much love! I love hearing your comments and feedback. If you guys like it, I may have more in store. :)
> 
> ~Lara #SaveForever

The air was abuzz with the entrancing glow of the 1920's. Spring had begun and so had the parties. Invitations to the well-suited New Yorkers and their friends piled in, to pack into the grand Long Island houses of entrepreneur's for engaging weekend affairs. Tonight was hardly exception. Men in proper, stiff neck tuxedos maneuvered through a maze of people, slapping acquaintances on the shoulder and exchanging pleasantries. At work they were rivals, but here they all raised their hands to toast new beginnings. Around them, flapper party girls twirled seemingly through the air like pops of vibrant confetti on New Year's Eve. They adorned themselves with jewels and fixed their hair just right with accents of sparkly, emerald flower brooches or silk scarves. On the grand terrace, a jazz tune carried out across the lawn as a bold soloist threw back his head towards the open, endless black sky and blew his shiny, brass trumpet up at the stars in a euphoric rhythm. He shut his eyes so tightly until they wrinkled narrowly on his face, savouring the pure sound of his instrument. The band was roaring and champagne corks shot into the air like fireworks followed by a stream of sweet, bubbly froth. In the pool, happy couples splashed water into their crystal, half filled wine flutes and laughed as wildly as they kissed. A girl dressed in a floral, vintage bikini sat along the perfectly smoothed stone rim as her feet skimmed the water.  
Back and forth. Back and forth.

It was a night that promised not to be forgotten. The party never grew dull as drinks poured like fountains and men caught beautiful, thin framed women around the waist. They danced until their legs hurt and when they did grow tired, they stumbled into open back convertibles and rode down the wide streets to continue their parties in the dim living rooms of their oceanside estates; but few truly wanted to leave. The joyous festivities, the laughter ran so unbounded that the piercing, panicked cry that suddenly rang out in the early hours of night was almost lost to the madness of the crowd.  
Almost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Abe, what did I tell you about leaving the kettle on while you're busy downstairs in your shop," I chided at my son, hurrying into the kitchen while buttoning up my blue dress shirt and fixing the sleeves. One was a little creased at the wrist, but there wasn't the time to change. On the hot stove, the copper teapot wailed loudly, almost blending with the scattered jazz record spinning on my wooden gramophone in the living room. Abe loved jazz since he was a boy, but to me, every noise just seemed to add to the cacophony of miss-matched instruments already blaring on the black vinyl. I gifted Abe the old, vintage phonograph years ago, which I kept in my possession and great care since the war. It was hard to find joy or reason to celebrate after my return from the battered war ground, but my beloved, late wife Abigail never let the numbing, grim reflection of what I had seen treating badly wounded patients at the front keep away the happiness that could fill our home. On evenings in our still nearly empty New York flat, she would choose her favourite record and dance around with little Abraham scooped in her arms as she sang along sweetly to him, humming through the few words she didn't yet know. When she saw me in the doorway, tearfully smiling, she gently reminded me. 'War has changed us all, but it never tore us away from who we were, who we still are. If anything it gave us love." She raised Abe towards me, his blue eyes widely meeting mine.  
Yes it had.

"Store opens promptly at nine, Henry," Abe called from the staircase, breaking me away from the nostalgic thoughts in my mind. He waved his finger above his head to emphasise his point until he reached the landing.

"And since when do you make sure to open promptly at nine?" I questioned. Abe's antique store on the ground floor of our flat sold some very valuable, some very old, and some very clearly replicated artifacts we'd collected through the years. He hardly ever followed the hours dangling on the sign in the window since anyone rarely gathered outside, waiting impatiently to snatch the Grecian Goddess, hand carved ivory bookends sitting on a polished Victorian bed table.

"Fawn Mahoney is back in town." So...Abe's red headed childhood sweetheart who he'd so boldly approached at her husband's funeral was thinking of taking him up for that casual invitation to coffee?

"Hasn't she lived here in New York for the last twenty years?" I asked after imagining her becoming a frequent visitor here, but swiftly dismissing the idea. Fawn Mahoney didn't strike me as the sort of woman to spend her time amongst old things.

"Twenty three," Abe corrected me. "But I hear she's back in the market. I just want her to know that my door's always open."

"Hmh," I huffed under my breath before taking a slow sip of my hot tea and hurriedly biting into a triangle sliced piece of buttered toast already on the table. Abe set out breakfast each day and we usually ate together, but the bathroom tap had acted up this morning and after an extremely cold shower, I was both wide awake and quite behind. There was nothing to rising in a true New York way.

If I ran late, my over enthusiastic assistant medical examiner, Lucas would hold me to explanation and theorize what experiments I might have been concocting downstairs under the floorboards in my 'cool' laboratory. Apparently, I struck him as a much more fascinating individual than I was in keeping old, brittle bones and chemical samples in my basement.  
If only he knew its true purpose.

Anxiously, I drew out and glanced at my heirloom pocket watch, ticking quarter to nine, before slipping it swiftly back into my vest pocket. In my day, time was of little importance, but for everyone else it mercilessly tolled on, marking events, deadlines, and achievements in one's life before they died and were ultimately forgotten. To me, it was a vast keeper of memories, from the time my curse of immortality began to the moments in which I both loved and lost what I cherished most. Sometimes, I wondered when, if ever this would stop. But murder never waited, nor life took a pause.

After a last sip of tea, I reached for my navy suit blazer and threw it over my shoulders, shrugging it on. I hadn't heard from Jo this morning, but I quickly realized I might have thought too soon.

"Maybe it's Fawn," Abe said in a low voice when the door downstairs slammed. He glanced in the mirror as he hurried to the stairs and patted a hand over his short, grey hair. He was determined to make a good impression.

If there was one thing I'd perhaps even unintentionally taught him, it was to fear nothing. He'd taken it very much to heart.

"Yeah Jo, Henry's just upstairs," I heard Abe say no more than a moment later, speaking loudly so I could understand that the visitor was in fact here for me.

I had become Detective Martinez' unlikely partner after a case I'd been caught up in last fall, both as a suspect and an uncooperative witness, who failed to disclose that I had been in the same smashed subway car where the conductor was poisoned and died most untimely whilst the subway train raced past its next stop. Surprisingly, I released myself from suspicion by solving the case and made enough of a heroic impression on Jo to warrant her desire in permanently securing my company to all her future investigations. She doubted my sanity on more than one occasion, (I sometimes doubted it myself), and she couldn't quite unravel the mystery behind my odd, careless, and really, blatantly unruly behaviour. Abraham believed I could trust her enough to tell her my secret, my life of immortality, but it was only when she was in danger that I risked the chance of her knowing. Besides, there was no possibility that she would believe me.

Fixing the collar of my blazer and throwing a burgundy, paisley scarf loosely around my neck, I hurried down the steep, creaky steps. Not far from the front door, Jo stood with her hands at her sides, the belt on her undone trench coat dangling at her waist. She looked a little disheveled and I noticed her fingers flex together when she saw me before a smile appeared on her face. The last time she'd stopped by, it was little to say that she'd surprised us both with her boldness after my being certain she was to be nowhere near New York at the time. She was supposed to be catching a flight to Paris with her over-eager new beau, Isaac, and there she was with me. Apparently, Paris was no longer that magical. I wasn't sure I understood her reason for coming here that night, but despite my will to avoid the truth, I did.

"Hey, thought I'd spare you the trip downtown to the M.E.'s office." Jo stayed near the doorway, waiting for me to meet her. "I'm surprised I still caught you here. I called the office, but Lucas said you weren't in yet."

"Not a quick start today, as so too it seems for another unlucky victim." I sensed the look of murder in her eyes.

Jo tucked a few loose strands of her wavy, brown hair behind her ear, though they quickly fell back around the frame of her face again. "Looks like I'm heading out to Long Island this morning. Thought you might wanna come? Seems like someone had a little too much fun out there last night."

"Millionaire's and their enemies don't bode well," Abe said, looking up from his desk where he'd started sorting papers. His glasses slid a little down his nose when he turned his head.

"Money cannot spare bloodshed, though it can do a good job covering it up," I mused. In my years, I'd learned that more than once. "And Abraham," I turned to add, "Please don't insist too heavily in your pursuit of Fawn Mahoney. Over imposition is not an attractive virtue."

"Yeah, yeah, ok Pops," Abe grumbled to my concern after Jo already swung open the front door and waited in the morning sun for me to follow her. Her attention was caught by something she noticed in the street and she took no note of my approach, so I hesitated and watched her beautiful brown eyes flicker as her gaze followed a happy couple walking hand in hand down the sidewalk. Alongside them, a little girl with a cartoon princess backpack skipped to school. I didn't need to use my skill of deduction to know that she was missing Sean. Really, I was blessed with Abe. If I'd done anything right in my life, I raised a son. She'd never even been given the chance.

"Ready?" I strode the few steps between us confidently, seemingly oblivious to her evident distraction.

"Yeah," she quickly broke her gaze from the family and nodded.

"I got you, uh, something for the road. Hot tea," Jo said once we reached the car. She fiddled with the paper cups in the tray between us and twirled them around to see which steamy drink was mine. Nervously, she spun hers back around towards her once she'd found mine. The barista had scribbled a heart next to her name. Helplessly noticing, I raised a brow and Jo flushed. "Cream and sugar ok?"

"Lovely," I smiled at her warmly, catching her swift glance towards me before she took a long sip of her own coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

"Maybe we should have hired a town car," Jo said as she leaned forward onto the steering wheel and looked out at the property where we had arrived. A gigantic, almost castle like mansion stood back from the smooth, gravel drive. Long, arched windows lined the entire front of the stately white stone home and lush vines of ivy crept under the sills and up along the magnificent walls. The dark slated roof slanted in rising towers; the smooth flowing structure broken only by the long, narrow, brick chimneys for about a dozen fireplaces. On the grounds, not one branch was un-pruned or out of place. If not for the yellow tape dangling from the side gates, the opulent serenity would have remained undisturbed.

Catching the door handle of the car between my fingers, I looked her way with a forward eye. "Don't be brass, Detective."

"I just don't get it," Jo said, still taking in the grandeur of the estate. "Who lives like this?"

"People who have nothing else in their lives to desire. There have been many a great deal here over the past century, desperate to make a mark on the world that would withhold their great name. I can say I have spent some time in their company. Their lives are not very enviable."

Stepping out into the fresh air, I knelt to scoop up a worn piece of paper lying on the pavement by the car. An invitation from last night's party.

"Join us for an unforgettable Great Gatsby Gala Event," I read aloud so Jo could hear me. "Can you imagine, just last night this now empty castle was bursting with the ringing glamour of 1922."

"They sure partied like the roaring ages," Jo replied with a firm slam of her door. Somewhere under her stiff judgment, perhaps even unknown to her, she missed the nights out I was sure she had with Sean.

"Tell me, Jo, that surely before you carried cuffs, or maybe better after, that you didn't have at least a little fun," I teased coyly. "I'll have a hard time believing you never once spent your midnight hour having had one too many glasses of wine and hanging off the arm of a lucky gentleman."

"Ok, Sean and I did hit a few parties when we were first married; before work caught up to us," Jo ceded with a smile. "But I assure you, there was no way we would make the guest list to a party like this."

"Nor would you want to. Sex, rumours, and scandal run more rampant here than the money they were built on."

Jo urged me on. "And you? You never took a girl out to some fancy soiree in London? Or some loud music occasion?"

"I've had my fair share of celebrations, which have led me to discover that I don't find much enjoyment in all that flamboyance."

"Too bad. I bet you'd look very suave in a tux," Jo said, her stare kept straight ahead. Her thought took me back a little.

Though unsure if I'd ever need it, I folded the invitation and hid it in my suit pocket anyway before joining Jo's side.

 

Unlike the front facing grounds, the gravel path around to the back of the house was greatly unkempt. Pebbles were strewn roughly at the rim of the grass and little crevices had grown where the crooked spikes of countless high heels had sunken into on the way back to the car. In the trimmed bushes, someone had lost their handkerchief. It was certainly a night.

Alongside the enormous, blue mosaic tiled pool at the far centre of the lawn, amongst the littered balloons and silver strands of tinsel lay a smartly dressed young man. Bits of white confetti had dried to his stiff, black dress shirt, half drawn out of his pressed, preppy white pants and unbuttoned to his toned chest. Darker spots stained his pants where the pool water had not yet faded and a line of jockeys raced, hunched over across his custom embroidered belt. If he were not so unfortunately dead, he was sure to have been the lucky pursuit of many ladies.

"Looks like a Gatsby ending for our victim too," I said, approaching the man who'd taken more than a dip in the now still water of the pool. Jo snapped on her blue gloves and handed me a pair from her jacket pocket.

“Guy Harper," Fred, a Long Island officer with a crumbly notepad in his hand said when we looked down at the body. "Twenty six years old. Rich millionaire and son to Gerald V. Harper, owner of one of the top, longest running race horse and stud farms in the country. Family has a house just down the street, but Guy resided primarily in the city. Equestrian journalist as well as inheritor of the highest bred competitors in the sport. Racing was in his blood."

Any siblings?" Jo asked, not bothering with introductions since Frank really couldn't care who she was. As far as I could see, he wanted to get out of this case as soon as possible.

Frank referred to his notepad. "One. A sister, Macie. So far looks like nothing's suspicious. With the amount of people packing into the parties 'round here, I'm surprised we don't have more privileged youth floating face down in the pools."

Assured that Officer Banks had no desire whatsoever to pursue Guy's demise, I knelt by the body and ran my eyes over him slowly. Guy's strong arms were patched blue under his skin from remaining below water for so long and his chest rose and fell unevenly where some of his ribs had shattered from the pressure in his swollen lugs. I tilted his heavy head to the side and traced down from his neck to his shoulder. His left hand was clutched tightly into a fist and I prodded his fingers back until I drew out a few loose pearls. Each one was trimmed with delicate gold and a fine opening ran through them as though they once belonged on a necklace. Oddly, he'd managed to hold them all this time.

"I'll need to further examine the body at the morgue, but my hunch is Guy didn't just pop in for a swim and never get out. He's not even wearing a bathing suit. Nothing suggests he had any intention of being in the pool at all, except for the lack of his shoes," I mused.

Frank's opinion remained unaltered and he glared at me severely. Of course a myriad of people were already talking about it, but when the papers boldly typed the word homicide across every front page, Long Island's notorious parties would forever be tainted with murder. Frank didn't seem capable of handling such excitement.

Confident in my early suspicion, I remained unintimidated. "Who discovered the body?"

"Francesca," Fred pointed in the direction of the canopied pool house where a suntanned girl, still dressed in the skimpy remainder of her jeweled dress from last night reclined, un-relaxed on a rose chez long. Her face was hidden behind a pair of tortoise shell aviators, but when we approached and she drew them off, her eyes were swollen and red like she'd been crying for hours.

"Francesca," Jo said, sitting down on a matching pool chair while I stood by her side. "I'm Detective Martinez and this is my assistant, Dr. Morgan. Can we ask you a few questions about Guy?"

Francesca nodded, her eyes nearly turning the colour of the furniture she was sitting on at the mention of Guy's name. "I found him in the pool sometime after midnight. Well after, I think. I had jumped in for a swim when the crowd turned a little less crazy and I noticed this distorted, dark shape on the pool floor so I dove down and, and..." Francesca stuttered, "When I saw his face, I just started screaming."

"How well did you know Guy?" Jo prodded.

"Not as well as I wish I could have. Everyone wanted to know Guy. Not just for his money or his good looks. He really had it all."

“Do you remember anything from the party that night that struck you as odd or unusual? Any fights or someone who seemed angry?" Jo asked, treading carefully not to upset her.

Francesca nodded again and looked down at her lap. "I never even saw Guy that evening. I wasn't really into the wild partying, so I spent most of the night on the terrace and talking to my friends by the dance floor. I wouldn't even be able to tell you if something off was going on. I don't think there was one person behaving normally." Jo looked up at me from her chair. 

This was going nowhere.

"Do you think something bad happened to Guy? Officer Banks assured me he just drowned in the throng of people. That he got shoved under."

"Believe me Francesca, Fred wants nothing more than to rule this case an accident so he can resume drinking coffee at the station and perusing his golf magazines," I said to the struck girl. "Though with a form like that he'd be lucky if he ever made a single good swing," I added to Jo in a lower voice.

Realizing my implication that Guy hadn't resurfaced simply because he wasn't a good swimmer, Francesca instantly eyed the officer with a cold look, as though she despised and disagreed with his opinion all along. She was like a flower-pretty, but swayed in whichever direction the wind blew.

"Have you ever seen these pearls before?" I asked one last question of her as I held up the jewels in the small evidence pouch. "They were in Guy's hand when he drowned."

"No," she nodded slowly. "Every girl wore flapper pearls last night. You wouldn't find one without them." Francesca scrunched her purple painted toes and brushed a hand over her matted dress. She was surely upset; the horror of her discovery far from wearing off. 

 

There are few things more disheartening than seeing a once full life left unclaimed, where money and family still cannot save the fate that befalls a person. For now, the outcome of our trip here left us as cold as Guy's body, now signed off for and headed to the morgue.

"Well," Jo said when we walked away and strayed down the hill not far from a fountain splashing from the mouths of marble swans. "We're in a search. You have anything to offer? I'm surprised, you're always full of speculation." Jo was worried by the way she fixed her badge. She didn't know where to begin.

"What a view,” I distracted her for a moment as we stood alone. Jo stopped next to me and looked far into the distance. "Can you not hear the buzzing roar of the first millionaire pioneers who dared to build their money's worth here? Doors swung open to the world. An invitation to celebrate their feat."

"Yeah," Jo looked ahead at the vast grounds where sunlight now crept through from behind the dreary grey clouds. "What a time to be alive."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Flashback: Long Island-1918)

"Morgan, old sport!" I heard my name cried moments before I spotted my companion across the brightly lit dining room. "Come here, let me introduce you to all the best people you'll ever need to know." Frank Woolworth slapped me heartily on the back and drew me closer to the men around him. "Morgan here is a doctor from a little city 'cross the pond called London. My Jennie was suddenly taken ill at our latest store opening up in Hammersmith and how lucky we were to have Morgan here to help us. I swear he could save us all."

I smiled graciously. "You overestimate my proficiency. I'm afraid if you do believe so, you will be greatly disappointed."

The plum faced gentlemen around me laughed boisterously. The smell of whiskey on their breathes wafted through the packed, buzzing room of hundreds of merry, deep pocketed couples. There was no disputation that Winfield Hall was the host of many great parties and that the Woolworth’s were avid entertainers.

Frank W. Woolworth was one of the wealthiest and most successful, envied gentlemen in America. And he basked in it. He was an expert businessman of trade and goods, recently expanding his well established company; opening stores across all of London to entice weary shoppers with his five and dime prices and everyday goods. He left no country disallowed and his name was stamped across this city as the proud owner of the magnificent Woolworth Building, the tallest in the world.

"Morgan, I can get you anything you want. Money, a grand chateau by the sea, the perfect wife." Woolworth grabbed his own pale looking wife, Jennie by the waist and brought her to his side, showing her off like a token he'd earned with his success. She wobbled unsteadily, but smiled for the crowd. "Stay in America here with me. Make a new life for yourself. Leave something people will remember forever.” 

“Let me show you around, everything you can have." Woolworth continued, determined to convince me. He led our small group along, suggesting our direction with his cane.

"It's all, very grand," I said with slight hesitation. The polished, white tiled marble floor of the foyer we moved into from the stifling room reflected the chandelier hanging above and echoed the hollow steps and loud voices ringing out from the entertained guests.

“Staircase cost two million alone!" Woolworth boasted. "Jennie and my daughters, they have everything they desire. Nothing less! Edna, my eldest, oh she's beautiful and also my lucky heiress. I made sure all my girls marry into prosperity, to well ranked husbands."

"And happiness?" I couldn't help but consider their own, perhaps overlooked desires.

"Of course!" Frank went on to elaborate, but I had stopped listening. Instead, I gaped, transfixed, at the ceiling where gold ornaments played with the lights like stars on a brilliant, clear night. I only broke away at the sound of Frank's raspy voice repeating my name.

"So what do ‘ya say old sport? The Gold Coast, all yours."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sun streaked the tops of hundreds of blooming trees before us. "The Golden Coast, Detective. For a reason." I leaned in closer to Jo. She smelled like sweet strawberries. Jo froze. Her eyes widened and her distant, thoughtful gaze quickly changed to a nervous sensation when my shoulder brushed against hers'. She didn't dare turn, but I was so close.

"What about him?" Jo said after a moment of held out silence, changing her focus from the warmth of my breath on her cheek back towards the house. Really, she didn't want to move.

I followed her direction and noticed a uniformed man unloading the trunk of a green, vintage car. "Perhaps he could let us speak to the master of this fine cottage," I suggested, the scent of strawberries fading from my nose.

Francesca proved little help and no one else here even supposed it was murder.

"Provided that he's not entertaining indoors," Jo said brazenly and with a smug smile as she strode confidently back across the lawn, determined to challenge the owner.

 

"Hi, we're looking into the death of Guy Harper." Jo held up her badge and pointed towards the pool in case the attendant didn't know what we were talking about. "We'd like to ask the owner of this house a couple questions."

The nicely dressed man answered formally as if he were reading from a book, "I'm afraid Mr. Keat is not at home."

"Oh, how convenient," I said. Clearly Mr. Keat wanted to be our first suspect.

"Do you know when he'll be back?" Jo asked, disappointed in his answer.

"Since the death of his wife, I'm afraid Sam doesn't abide by a schedule. I'm his head keeper here though, Carl," the gentleman introduced himself.

"Do you think you could get us a copy of the guest list from last night?" Jo asked, hopeful it would offer something substantial enough to present to Lieutenant Reece that would justify our open investigation. Reece didn't like to waste the NYPD's resources pursuing dead end cases. I however, found in them the sharpest of killers.

"Of course," Carl said. "Though I think you'll need a few on your team digging anything up. Mr. Keat doesn't throw small parties." The intrigued look in Carl's eyes suggested he himself would have loved to sit around and uncover the dirty secrets of the people he courteously served every weekend. His eyes also said he'd seen many of those same secrets unfold before him.

Jo turned to me. "Well Henry, you better have some directly indicative evidence of murder, otherwise we've got a pretty long list of suspects to question."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mind is bursting with my love of this plot! I've always loved Gatsby and his vivid Gold Coast dream, but what happened to Guy? 
> 
> Also, I did quite a bit of research for this book to portray real, accurate events, especially in the flashbacks. 
> 
> New chapter will be up asap. Super excited! I've got dozen of sticky notes on my desk scribbled with plot ideas. Hope you guys are having as much fun reading it as I am creating this story.


	3. Chapter Three

Drowning is a silently miserable way to die. There isn't much physical pain as if you were shot or stabbed with a knife in the chest. While it ends rather quickly, it spares no one of suffering in the few short minutes you spend fighting to break from its darkness. Perhaps the most paralyzing thing is the fear itself of knowing that you are going to die. Conscious, your body does everything to keep you from gasping for air while you tread against the water's pull, steering only towards the faraway surface. Slowly, light fades in your blurred eyes until at last, no longer able to fight the bursting need for air, you take in a breath of cold, tasteless water. It floods into your stomach until you feel it burn your lungs as your body succumbs to its weight. Only when your heart and blood no longer find oxygen, that you luckily loose consciousness and die. Overall, I'd mark it a seven out of ten in worst ways to go. Take it from someone who knows.

 

"Well it seems our Guy was a pretty unlucky guy," Lucas strode from the laboratory computer, a smirk on his face. Jo cracked a small smile, but I disregarded his joke entirely. He stopped at the shiny, metal examining table where Guy lay, stiff as a soldier, a white sheet covering most of his body up to his toned chest.

"What'd you find?" Jo asked, prodding him along.

Lucas looked down at the paper in his hand as if he hadn't already memorized the cause that led Guy into this undesirable position. "Tox results show wicked high traces of Vicodin and alcohol in his blood."

"Pain reliever?" Jo questioned.

"Yeah," Lucas confirmed with wide eyes. "He was jacked on them."

"So..." Jo attempted to work out a theory when I confidently interjected, drawing attention to the body.

"I believe Guy Harper wasn't only drowned. He was also drugged before he was pushed into that pool, so he would be too disoriented and overwhelmed to fight back. I hadn't noticed initially that there's also a large contusion on the back of his head. The lower occipital lobe." Carefully, I turned Guy's neck to the side and revealed the lump to Jo. With a soft touch, I parted his thick, dark honey blonde hair aside and outlined the wound with a gloved hand. "Occurred pre-mortem, hence the bruising. I presume at some point he banged his head on the ledge of the pool."

"Maybe that's what knocked him unconscious? The blow to his head," Jo continued my thought.

"Combined with the Vicodin and a driven murderer; a potent dose of death for sure." I narrowed my eyes at Jo with excitement. "I'd estimate his death to be between midnight and one o'clock, which by the time Francesca suggested she found him, he would have been submerged for almost two hours."

Jo looked at me with a disgusted expression. She couldn't even think how many people had plunged into that pool, practically treading across Guy's body. She shook the image from her mind with a shudder.

"Pretty gross, huh. I guess heavy pockets only make you sink faster," Lucas said, staring at Guy. "You'd think someone would wonder where he went. A girlfriend he left behind at the packed house or his buddy's that helped him with all those drinks? Guy looks like he lived to be the center of the party."

“Well it would be hard for him to have been at the center of this one," I replied. "There were more than six hundred people on the guest list. God knows who else simply wandered in through the front gates or across the grounds." Jo had barely flipped over the first few pages this morning and was already overwhelmed. She nearly sighed at my mention of it now.

"Woah!" Lucas said, mystified. "I don't even know half that many people. I invited like ten people to my med school graduation; only three actually came." His expression sank a little and he folded the very tip of the paper in his big hands into a triangle.

"Now, our victim." With Lucas' horizons on the extravagant upper class widened and dismaying memories stirred, I brought Guy to our attention once more and leaned forward with my hands on the edge of the table. "Ultimately, he died of asphyxiation. The amount of drugs in his system would not have been enough to kill him. They would have done some serious damage to his organs without doubt, but the immediate effects would have been a change in heartbeat, lightheadedness, an altered mental state. The killer wanted him lucid enough to realize what was happening, but also too weak to resist him and cause a struggle."

Jo listened to me closely, still waiting for the definitive moment when I usually exposed my perfect conclusion. She pushed me on with a nod of her head.

"When a person drowns there is virtually nothing an autopsy can reveal. Most DNA on the skin is too damaged or completely erased the longer a body remains submerged. Worse so in a pool because the chemicals aid in destroying nearly all evidence much faster. The chlorine in the water begins to evaporate from the lungs almost immediately and the fluctuating water temperature changes the onset of lividity, making the time of death more difficult to determine. It's the perfect crime, if carried out properly. Whoever killed Guy, did it just so."

"So how can we tell for sure it wasn't an accident?" Jo had come to the morgue with a much higher prospect. If her hidden enthusiasm were not so transparent to me, she might have come across as disappointed.

"Vicodin is a fairly commonly prescribed drug for acute pain; a narcotic usually dispensed in small doses under a doctor's close consultation. To my knowledge, it comes only in the form of a pill; a strong dose that has an even harsher effect when it mixes with alcohol. The traces I found on the lining of Guy's stomach, were of a finely ground powder, not a naturally dissolved pill."

Jo frowned. "Ok. Supposing Guy was taking Vicodin, why would he be spiking his drinks? I've seen people do some pretty crazy things, but that's practically a suicide mission."

"Precisely, Detective," I agreed.

Lucas was entirely absorbed in taking notes, presumably of what I was saying and the white clipboard trembled in his hand from the swiftness of his writing.

"From the little I know about Guy, he doesn't seem to me, a person to toy so carelessly with his life."

"Yeah, well there are a lot of people who aren't what they seem to be," Jo said with a serious glance at me and I paused. Noting the silence, Lucas stopped writing and lifted his eyes from the paper.

He wondered if we were talking about him.

Collecting myself, I wasted no time in proving my point. "Even if Guy, as you believe, was the spitting image of modern, pleasure addicted, East shore royalty..."

"Which we can't rule out," Jo quickly countered as I waited to continue.

"...Then he would have to obtain his drug of choice from someone else. He has no other physical injuries on his body; no fractures or apparent illnesses that would require him to alleviate pain with such medication. But most importantly, there are no recent detections of drugs in his system or hair samples." I stood back proudly, crossing my hands at my front. Jo was overwhelmed by my findings once again. She looked at Lucas, then back at me.

"I know how you feel," Lucas said to Jo with an honest face. "Every person, dead or alive, that comes through these doors is like an open book for him. When I first came to work here, in less than two minutes, Henry knew everything about me. From my obsession with comic conventions to how the long, white hairs stuck to my blue scrubs meant I'd spent the night with my girlfriend, who had a large Persian cat. I thought he read my file and spent hours looking me up online. I was totally freaked out. All I could tell was that he had an accent." Even now, Lucas appeared disheartened in his poor first perception of me.

"So much for the mystery of drowning victims," Jo said. She knew my ethic well to have much doubt over the findings I unfolded.

"Well it is, still a mystery, Detective, but at least we have scratched beyond the surface." I teased a grin. "Not one crime goes entirely without evidence. Some clues are just concealed more carefully."

Jo wanted to be clear. "Here's what we can guess happened that night. Our Guy arrives at the Gatsby Gala amidst the rest of the crowd, where we can also think that he spends the night partying loudly with his friends. Everyone is downing drinks..."

"Except with every shot of alcohol Guy takes, he is also poisoning himself with a powerful drug," I said as I stepped towards Jo. "The killer waits until Guy is both heavily overdosed and intoxicated, that in a daze, he winds up near the pool..."

"And then whack!" Lucas swung a hand through the air and smacked his notepad loudly, "He goes splashing into the pool, where he smashes his head and sinks to the bottom."

I sighed. Lucas was never afar from finding the moment for a climactic accentuation.

"You think he'd have his phone on him," Lucas wondered. "Taking pictures, shooting some rave videos. I would." Lucas chuckled to himself.

"I had uni's do a sweep around the property, but nothing's shown up," Jo said as she took a copy of the death report from Lucas. "I've got Hanson downstairs looking into personals. Let me see if he's got anything. The Harper family has already been calling the precinct. They're wondering why we're pursuing Guy's death as suspicious." Even with my solid evidence, Jo had no right to provide a real disclosure. "For now, let's hope that guest list gives us something to work with. We may have a cause of death, but we need to find the motive and for that, first we need a tangible suspect." Jo's eyes were now set with a look of determination as she turned and walked towards the elevators. She stopped short halfway out. "Oh, and did you get anything on those pearls you pulled from Guy's hand?"

"I'm afraid not." I shook my head. To me the pearls were perhaps the most vital piece of evidence because they almost certainly belonged to a young woman; someone who'd been near him that night. Yet just the same their fate, kept tightly in his clammy fist, remained a puzzle.

"Well, maybe something will turn up," Jo tried to console me with a quick smile before heading on out the door.

 

Behind me, Lucas flopped back into one of the wheeled desk chairs, where he proceeded to examine the clear evidence bag filled with Guy's possessions. The chair swiveled until it bumped against the table, but Lucas bore his weight into the firm, black cushion and fought its resistance to make him sit up straight. He crinkled the pouch in his hands loudly. "I can't even imagine..." he thought aloud.

"What?" I asked him with hardly a glance up in his direction. I was still examining the bruise on Guy's scull and brought the spotlight over my head closer as I smoothed aside some more of his hair. The amount of blood that had condensed in the wound baffled me.

"Being so rich. Never worrying about anything. You don't even have to try, for girls to like you or be smart enough to get into college 'cause you're already made for life by your parents' success. If you're the oldest, like Guy, it's like automatically being your parents' favourite child all your life."

From the way Lucas talked, he sounded more as though Guy was next in line to the throne than the future owner of a renowned horse racing name. Lucas leaned even further into the chair. "There was this kid down the street where I lived growing up. Tommy Jones. He was three years older than me and he used to shove me off the swing at recess, but I still thought he was the luckiest and most awesome person I knew. I mean, he got a brand new Aston Martin convertible for his sixteenth birthday! My parents wouldn't even buy me the new Dracula book. At night, he drove it down the block with his pretty girls dangling over the windshield. Sometimes I just wanted to bust out a window and mess up his perfect life." I raised my eyes up at him with a crease of my forehead. Lucas never expressed such frustration before. "But then his parents got a divorce and they sold the brick house everyone dreamed about. Tommy switched schools and on the last day he stood in the hallway and cried. I couldn't think of a reason of why Tommy'd ever cry."

By Lucas' voice, I could tell he had since come to realize that even the tallest, strongest brick walls couldn't keep trouble out. Rather, it seemed they kept it in.

"Lucas, I am confident you have achieved far more than your schoolmates," I said to him as I gathered my leather case of tools. "Tommy is probably still playing with his cars, amongst other things." Lucas had stopped crinkling the bag. He even sat up straight. The smallest of my compliments made him glow.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Lucas said. He looked down again as his fingers separated a bracelet from the cluster of items Guy had on him when he drowned. It was a thin, gold band, one usually given as a gift; a mark of achievement for something important.

"Veritas Vos Liberabit," Lucas read the engraving on it aloud.

"The truth shall make you free," I noted as I snapped off my latex gloves and started towards my office.

Lucas thought for a second. "Funny how rare it is that we can actually trust or love someone enough to open ourselves up to them."

I stopped in the threshold of the open double glass doors to my office. "Yes, and how beautiful when despite learning your secrets they still choose to love you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(London-1945)

Abigail held me as though she feared that by releasing me from her grasp, I might vanish from her again. The room of our flat was all but dark and the only light that filtered through the curtains came from the full moon, risen high up over the city home's roofs. We had not spoken a word in so long, that when Abigail did speak, it was like hearing her voice for the very first time.

"Henry? How long have you lived like this, with such a heavy secret to bear?" she asked quietly, her eyes catching the moon's brilliance when she raised them up at me.

"Long enough to experience death enough times that I began to believe whether I had truly stopped living. I cannot die," I said plainly. Behind me, baby Abraham rustled in his sleep.

Abigail blinked. "But why?" I simply shook my head. Her mind was racing; endless thoughts to a million questions I probably could not answer, but as always, she remained composed.

"I have yet to understand my affliction, but I fear with each day that perhaps I never will. I've long outlived my family, moved far from my past in these countless years, yet I cannot escape an eternal future."

I watched as Abigail understood that my life had begun perhaps centuries ago. The idea frightened her, but just the same, she squeezed my arm harder.

"Oh Henry," she whispered, taking the collar of my wool coat between her fingers. My breath caught when the back of her soft hand brushed my cheek. I didn't deserve her. "Does anyone know?" Abigail asked seriously.

My heart beat faster as memories sparked by her words came back in bright colour." Someone did know once, though I wrongly judged their affection towards me. In their cold eyes, I was a madman who deserved no more than to live, if even a life of eternity, each day without seeing light. Since my escape from their vices by the virtue of a devoutly believing man, I never dared to seek trust in anyone again. I knew my curse would haunt me. I can see them now, tying me down, blinding and drowning me. Pouring buckets of ice water on my face mercilessly. I'm begging them, pleading for them to stop, but they do not hear me." I began to shiver from the sheer recollections of torture I had endured. Mistrust had placed me there. For as long as I lived, I would not forget.  
There was no sin like betrayal.

"Henry, what happened to you my love?" Abigail wiped the tears on my cheeks with a soft swipe of her thumb. Her own hands were trembling, but she was much stronger in heart than I. Life had not spared her of hardship, yet from it she only returned with courage. "Please, tell me the truth."

The look in her pained eyes was so clear, so unafraid when she should have been, that in all of my time alone spent guarding my mysterious curse, I realized then, I had a reason to be alive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'll be honest, Guy was the kind of classic rich kid you don't see much now; hosted dozen of charity events, endorsed and promoted new causes," Detective Hanson said as he sat at his desk, tapping a pen on his fingers. "But let me tell you, our vic had a pretty wild time in college. Couple run ins with the law-mostly underage drinking, breach of peace, indecent exposure, swimming naked on the beach..."

Jo flicked her eyes at me with a playful smile on her lips.

"Sure that wasn't you Doc?" Hanson joked. I simply nodded politely, eager to avoid the subject of my compromising night swims in New York's shady Hudson. I had joined Jo downstairs at the precinct to enlighten myself on the stories Guy's pale body couldn't tell me.

Hanson continued. "But everything cut off his Junior Year in college. His record turned totally clean."

"Maybe Guy realized he had to get his act together. Brown is a pretty prestigious University," Jo suggested. Lieutenant Reece must have approved our case because Jo had already taped a picture of Guy to the center of her whiteboard. Unfortunately, Guy's picture was the only thing on it.

"Yeah, these elite kids are notorious partiers, but he's got a name to uphold. One big mess up and the whole family could be screwed," Hanson backed Guy's unfettered past. "These people don't lose easily and Harper's horses are legends. When they step into the gate, odds ten to one they’ll win against their competition. The Harper's live to make history. They've knocked down big names like the Vaughns and Zahaids in their run. It's no holding back for them."

Surprised, Jo and I watched him talk animatedly, no longer referring to his computer. Hanson must have been preparing for this case all his life. In any matter, he'd certainly followed more than a race or two in his career. When he noticed us looking at him keenly, he stopped.

"Yeah I placed a couple bets on one or two horses when I was younger," Hanson admitted with a small shrug.

"Win anything?" Jo asked, shooting a coy glance at him.

Hanson bowed his head and stuffed his hands into his pant pockets. "No."

Obviously Hanson was not the most experienced wagerer.

"But check this out," Hanson said. He turned his computer screen out so we could all see what he was reading. There were hundreds of articles on Guy's racing Thoroughbred, Jupiter's Crown. "He took the Preakness and Belmont Stakes by storm last year. First in both and a shocking new contender, he beat out champs. As you can imagine, Harper angered a few big guys in the sport. A couple million lost between 'em. This year the Harper's are in again with Jupiter, aiming for the Triple Crown. His horse could sweep it all. Of course someone wanted him out. He was gonna be one rich guy." Hanson flipped the pen in his hand, overlooking the unintentional pun he'd scored. However Lucas would not have missed it.

"Well if there was ever a larger pool of suspects," I said as Hanson groaned.

"Seriously Doc, you couldn't let the local sheriff handle this one?" he asked, taking a sip of his black coffee from the mug on the edge of his messy desk. No wonder neither he nor Jo could ever find anything.

I recalled the officer we spoke to on the scene. "Believe me, if Fred had it his way, he wouldn't bother to think of it as any more than a long awaited misfortune."

"You think we're doing much better? We've got nothing to start on, Doc," Hanson said.

"Well there is something. Guy also wrote a weekly column for a racing journal called The Rail. It was featured in the sports section of the Times. Talk about exposure." Jo fetched a copy of last week’s newspaper from her desk and handed it to me. "Someone who works here might know Guy. It's worth a try to ask," she said with a shrug. "Hanson, see what names you call pull up of the people who lost to Guy last year. Maybe something will stand out," Jo instructed. "Henry and I will go check out the publisher Guy worked for. Their building is only ten blocks from the precinct."

"Got it," Hanson said and turned back to his stack of papers.

Stepping backwards, I grabbed Jo's trench coat and handed it to her. "So Detective, how much would you care to bet our victim was murdered just before his name was to be forever marked beside a historic few winners of a greatly coveted prize?"

"What are the odds?" Jo replied with a wise eyed stare as she turned away and started to the door. Looking aside, I bit down on my lip and helplessly tried not to grin, but Jo never awarded such success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This was a long and crazy chapter to write; I wanted to get everything down right, so apologies for the delay. I can't believe what a great reception this story has received! I spend nearly every free moment working on it (including some pretty late nights). Hope you guys keep with it. 
> 
> Yay! Lucas is here! I love writing his scenes. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love! Seriously, I love hearing what you think of it. :)
> 
> ~Lara


	4. Chapter 4

The Rail ran a daily issue in the paper on the fast paced news of horse racing, one with a wide influence on those who thinned out their fortune in hopes of doubling their win when their lucky competitor crossed to victory first. No more than a dozen people worked in the small, ground floor office of the tall, stone building on East 36th Street, where unlike at most large publishing companies, the steady ambience provided a welcome escape from the busy, crowded New York avenues. Tables stood in an open, unorderly arrangement around the room and other formidable writers tracked news, penned opinions, or simply chatted in groups, no doubt about Guy and who of them would be promoted to take charge of his column now that he was dead. In the far corner, a copy machine spit out sheet after sheet of paper into a woven basket.

"When I read the headlines this morning I couldn't believe it," the head editor of the well-credited bulletin, Victoria said to Jo and I, the tone of her voice still reflecting her shock. "I think none of us here could. Someone like Guy, I never even thought." She turned a sparkling band around her ring finger anxiously.

Victoria had been the first to greet us when we came in, but when she noticed Jo's police badge fixed to her belt, she knew we bore no good news. With Guy so unexpectedly gone, it had taken our arrival to at last confirm that a terrible thing befell him.  
As I long knew, death didn't spare anyone. Quite often it sought out the very people who thought it would never favour.

"How long had Guy been writing for you here?" Jo asked while Victoria led us through the office. Her blonde hair was pulled back with a tortoise shell pin and the popped collar of her prim, white, buttoned shirt was embellished with the signature print of Burberry plaid.

Victoria looked over her shoulder. "Not even a year, just shy by a few months. I'll be the first to say he deserved everything he was given the opportunity to do."

"He must've really had something to stand out like that," Jo said. "Not many people step into such a notable place without years of training and rivalry. I can't imagine a column in the city's biggest newspaper is easy to come by, even for a Harper."

Victoria shook her head. She could see Jo was still blinded by the standard image of Guy's far up standing in society. "Guy lived for success. Not in a stiff neck way; he just set his own expectations higher than the rest," she said as she came around to her desk and retrieved a set of keys from the top right drawer. They were looped onto a brown, tassel leather chain and she toyed with the fringed ends in her hand as she reminisced about Guy. "He could have put his feet up like the rest of them, but Guy believed that the ones who really wanted to achieve the most headed things themselves, not by others for them. Perhaps that's what our senior manager, Michael saw in him."

Staying silent and observing, I picked up a blue clay jar from Victoria's desk and read the crooked inscription finely carved into the wet clay before it had been set. Jo eyed me, but didn't bother to ask me to put the trinket down since Victoria seemed unaffected by my apparent interest in it.

"An exquisite antique vase from Chieti," I said when I set the chubby jar carefully back in its place. "Italy must have been beautiful." Victoria smiled agreeably. "Your husband must have spent quite a sum for such a rare piece. I'd guess by the design, it was molded sometime in the late eighteen hundreds." By the way I'd captured Victoria's attention, it was clearly apparent that until now she hadn't quite known its value.

"Henry's friend owns an antique shop," Jo said quickly, in hopes to explain my embarrassing behaviour to a now flustered Victoria. "Some knowledge rubbed off on him." She didn't want her to question our integrity when it came to Guy. Though I stood pleased with a grin, I took Jo's words as indication to hold my opinions and stepped away to look around as she continued to casually poke Victoria for answers.

You can gather so much familiarity with the likes of a person by the things they've collected. Here alone in this room, there were hundreds of little bits and pieces of lives strung together; every item on each person's desk describing them in more detail than they often could. No matter how few or how many, the things we choose to surround ourselves with show what means most to us, offer glimpses into our desires and pursuits, though only we know the true reason of why we hold on to them. The desk closest to me was all but bare, except for a line of miniature glass whales and a bowl filled with colourful seashells. On the one beside it, punch-out pink paper dolls and children's artwork were tucked under the glass tabletop. Diet books and healthy living pamphlets were stacked about on another large desk near the long windows. The wood plaque at its front read 'Michael Sutten'.

"Did Guy ever have trouble with anyone else who works here?" I heard Jo ask behind me and rejoined her when Victoria escorted us down a short hallway.

"So you'd think," Victoria replied, touching the diamond on her finger for the fifth time since I'd secured the idea of her husband's strong affection for her. “Surprisingly, Guy made it nearly impossible to dislike him. I'm sure, of course, that we all envied his life, but he never looked for an argument. Do you think someone meant to hurt him?"

Jo saw Victoria's concern and tried to reassure her. "We're just here so we can learn a little more about Guy."

Victoria smiled despite her dismay. "Well, let me just say, there would be a lot to learn about him." She stopped at the far door in the hall and the other keys on the leather chain jangled as she turned the knob until it unlocked.

"Thank you," I nodded courteously at Victoria who didn't follow us in. Perhaps she felt she had said enough to leave us alone now. 

 

"Wow!" Jo gaped when she pushed the door to Guy's room open and stepped in before me. The walls were covered with pencil sketches of horses, a timetable of running counts, and article clippings from other sporting columns and magazines. Large, hardbound books on a tall shelf were divided by a clock and a slender, white yacht replica stood with its sails open atop a hollow glass case. 'The Huntington' was emblazoned on its hull in bright gold. A table beside the window held a wood racing board game with a straight track from the gates to the win. The little pegged horses waited frozen for their next move towards the red painted finish line. The one in the fifth lane was slightly ahead of the rest, but oddly, the horse in the last, tenth lane was missing. I moved one of the pegs forward two spaces absentmindedly as I studied the curious game.

"I guess not all of the Harper name became him," Jo ceded at last. Slowly, she followed the row of drawings pinned to the wall.

They were extraordinary.

"Have you changed your mind, Detective?" I asked, surprised.

"Maybe about Guy, but not on the motive of whoever killed him. What you are still marks you. Guy couldn't conceal his family's ties and now," Jo picked up a pamphlet from the bookshelf, "they caught up to him."

I found I couldn't disagree with that.

Hands crossed behind my back, I circled around Guy's desk standing in the center of the room. Half finished articles lay stacked over one another along with a sailor's guide where Guy had highlighted tides and currents to clearly go out on the water. On either side of his computer, frames with family photographs and his victories stood clustered together. In each, Guy smiled widely, whether with an arm on his father's shoulder by their stable or on the beach with what I supposed to be his sister, Macie. At the very forefront, in a gold-rimmed frame, he stood tall before his beautiful, black winner Jupiter; a polished, silver trophy hoisted high above his head. Next to him, a young man with ruffled brown hair held the other side. Guy was glowing. I had never seen someone smile with so much euphoria. I took the heavy frame in my hands. Slipped beneath the glass was a square piece of paper-Jupiter's first winning ticket at last year's Preakness Stakes.

"Sag Harbor Yacht Club," Jo read from her pamphlet. "Gosh, what was Guy not a part of?"

"Sailing is a very invigorating experience," I said with spirit. Personally, I'd had enough of a voyage in a boat to last, well, a lifetime.

Jo tossed aside the booklet. "Being swayed around on the open water, no thanks. I prefer to keep my feet on the ground."

"Haven't you ever tried something daring in your life?" I asked.

"I'm a cop. Everyday," Jo said.

I replaced Guy's frame, careful not to knock the others over. "If solving homicides is the extent of your adventures, I assure you, you are mislaying your attention."

"Do you see me steering a boat?" Jo eyed me. I was no longer thinking of sailing.

"You have no trouble wielding cuffs," I teased with a smug face.

"Watch it, Henry," she warned. "I'm not here for your wise words." Jo didn't want to admit that she actually listened to everything I said. "If you gave all your patients this two cent charity, no wonder you stopped being a physician. At least the dead are a little too late for your advice." She undid the buckles on a dark brown, canvas messenger bag she'd taken off a coat hook and began to rifle through the pockets.

Forgoing furthering my point, I tugged on the drawers in Guy's desk, but they were locked by a number combination, so instead I drew back the lid of an initialed box and poked through the items inside. It held nothing more than some ink pens, an old, miniature compass, and a set of I.D. cards. On the very bottom lay a small, wool, stuffed hound dog with black, beaded eyes, a long tail, and a pink ribbon for its collar.

If there was one thing I could firmly ascertain, was that Guy had no intention of dying. There were a thousand things he still planned to do and find pleasure in. He was a Harper and though his name distinguished his class, he'd have been just as great without it.

A quiet hum came from beside me and I hesitated for a second until it dulled out.

"See something?" Jo asked when she noticed me frozen by the desk. "Henry?"

I shook my head, then frowned. From this distance, I suddenly noticed how carelessly a pair of leather chairs by the window table were arranged. Unlike anything else in the room.

"Henry?" she said my name again as she walked towards me with something in her hand. She blocked the corner of the office I was staring at.

Alerted by my observation, my mind raced with theories, but I remained entirely composed. Hastily, I shut the lid of the small box I'd dug in and slid my hand in my pant pocket smoothly.

"Look at this," Jo said. "These postcards. They're almost ten years old and they're all by the same girl." She shuffled them in her hand, one over the other. "Why would he have these in his bag?"

Edinburgh. Monte Carlo. Barcelona. Paris.

Jo handed the stack to me. Scribbled always at the bottom, in tilted, messy penmanship was the name 'Kit'.

"A former attachment perhaps?" I suggested.

"Yeah, well we know she's gone," Jo sighed. "Given how he spent his first two years of college, he probably threw her off by the end of that summer. Her vacation postcards were part of the fling."

"He cared enough to keep them. That says a lot of a man. She must have been important," I said. God knows, I couldn't throw away Abigail's letters, if they were the only thing I saved. Not one, because when I read them, her voice, her face came so alive that past the first few lines, the words faded from the paper as if I could hear her speaking them.

I turned my head to look at Jo. Frustration was planted on her face. She glared at the room as if by standing here, the evidence would all jump out to her. Unlike most people, I noticed every detail almost instantly and solved many puzzling occurrences without challenge. Jo both admired and barely tolerated these skills; sometimes my extensive knowledge plainly annoyed her.

"Ok, we've got a bunch of pieces again," she said. "We know all about his hobbies, all the affairs he headed, his impression on the track, but there's nothing here that directly connects to his murder."

"On the contrary." I stepped past Jo to have a clear view of the window-front table, the same one that held the horse racing game. “There was an altercation in this office," I pointed out. Jo followed me closer and I emphasized what I saw with my hands. "The deep indentations in the carpet suggest that both these chairs always stand facing the table. They're rarely turned out like this and never for long periods of time. The one on the right is pushed back, but this left chair is entirely out of place. Who would choose such an awkward angle-aimed directly at the empty wall. If someone had been sitting here, their weight would have caused an impression in this position. No, someone rose from this chair abruptly and shoved it out of their way in anger."

"Henry, a chair?" Jo was skeptical. "Maybe the cleaners moved it."

"If they had," I dropped to my knees and crawled under the mahogany table before quickly withdrawing and standing up straight in front of Jo again. "They would not have missed this." I raised my hand and waved a single playing card before her.

Five of spades.

"Even this game has been disturbed. See the way this deck of cards has been left completely haphazardly, both on the board and table like they were thrown on the floor and then carelessly picked up again. Everything in this room has a place, if not in the most organized manner. Guy certainly would not have continued to leave it all like this..."

"Unless he never returned to the office," Jo finished for me. She studied the room in a whole new light.

"Exactly!" I agreed excitedly.

Jo took the playing card from between my gloved fingers and placed it in an evidence packet to run for prints.

"I believe that whatever transpired here is not incidental to Guy's murder," I said. "Everyone may have revered him, but even the best of us find that not all our enemies shed their masks."

 

Victoria rose from her seat when she saw Jo aiming at her. Half hopeful, she waited for us to confide in her, but Jo didn't intend to ask her about the disruption in Guy's office.

"You were right," Jo said when we reached her. "Guy had quite an incredible life."

"His hard ethic and interest in journalism and racing wasn't the only thing that made him stand apart," Victoria replied. "He was trustworthy, close with his family; wanted to be just as compelling as his father, strong and unwavering."

"He was," I recognized with a slight nod. Victoria had a very high regard for Guy.

"Then I hope you've found everything?" she asked.

"We'd just like to talk to Guy's supervisor, Michael," Jo pushed.

"Mr. Sutten is on his lunch break right now, but you're welcome to wait. He should be in shortly," Victoria said. She gestured at a sturdy bench by the break area. It looked like it belonged in a garden, not a formal publishing company.

"Thanks, we'll hang close," Jo waved her off with a faint smile when I nudged her towards the front door with my shoulder.

 

"Odd is it, how all these great families work," I said to Jo when we reached the bright, sunlit street once again and shuffled on the cement outside the stone building. "How many years it takes to build a name for yourself." Side by side, we casually strayed down the sidewalk as we expected Sutten's return. "If Guy was fortunate in one thing, was that his parents were in the right stream of business; he had no secrets to uncover. No shadows."

"He had it given to him," Jo said. "Growing up as an inner city kid, my parents worked nine to five straight out of college. My dad spent more time looking for a job than going to one. We had a nice place for our neighborhood and I grew to tough it out, but as a little kid it was intimidating. The school bus used to drop me off last so my mom could meet me at the corner. Even in high school, I'd save my lunch money to catch a taxi after dark. When I walked, junkies and roughneck kids would sit on street front steps and stare. Pretty sure that's what convinced me I needed a gun."

"Doubtless you already knew where to aim," I said, hooking my thumbs on my pant pockets.

Jo huffed, "My parents always thought I'd be a secretary for some nice firm or maybe an interior designer. When I told them I applied for a criminal justice program, it's safe to say they were more than shocked. A detective in New York; my mom thought I was crazy. No one in my family had ever been a cop; it was supposed to be in your blood. I insisted I'd be the first one to start the line." The edges of my mouth curved into a smile. Jo's determination had still not waned in the least. "When I married Sean, they finally came around. I think they realized that being a homicide detective and putting killers behind bars was better than prosecuting them as a District Attorney. In my first week on the job, I looked up my dad online in the offence records..."

"And?" I asked after she paused and turned her head away.

Jo raised her eyes at me once more. "I wished I hadn't."

Silent, I stood next to Jo as she fetched her phone from her coat and swiped through her messages, looking for Hanson's name to appear as proof that he'd succeeded in finding a solid lead. She stared at the screen blankly for a few seconds, pushing away the lingering memories of her childhood. 

"I believe Mr. Sutten did not go far for his lunch," I said unexpectedly.

Jo glanced up from her phone. "What?"

I gestured at a gentleman busy ordering lunch at a food truck parked across the narrow street. "Who litters his table with diet books and then goes out to buy salad and non-sugared iced tea from a fast food street vendor?" The short, stout man pointed at his selections by tapping on the glass front window and I squinted to narrow my focus. "He buys his lunch outside, instead of bringing his own, to make himself exercise by walking farther than the break room to retrieve it. Then the resistance of purchasing something nutritious amidst a myriad of unhealthy foods available makes his result that much more gratifying. His slightly loose clothing suggests the regime is working."

Jo acknowledge my logic, but was weary of mistaking him. "Hold on. If it's Sutten, we'll know when he heads back this way to the office."

She left me in charge of watching him and continued reading from her phone a moment longer. My patience however, was not as fine as hers.

Hardly looking both ways, I abruptly strode out between the line of driving cars. Flashing red brake lights, they jerked to a sharp halt and slammed their horns.

Jo shoved her phone in her pocket. "Henry!" she exclaimed, but I was already halfway to the other side and she hurried to catch up. I waved at the driver's politely as though they stopped out of courtesy, not from the lack of someone's awareness. Jo followed me closely as we dodged another angry driver. "Henry why can't you just wait for cars to pass before blindly stepping into the road?" she shouted. "Didn't anyone ever teach you street smarts growing up?"

Successfully across, I hesitated on the curb. "The streets were, a bit different where I lived." Jo gave me a cross glare. From the few things she did know about my past, it sounded to her as if I grew up in an entirely different way of life, let alone another country.

Her presumptions would not be wrong.

 

"Michael Sutten?" Jo asked of the gentleman in the charcoal grey suit when we came up behind him.

The man acknowledged us by turning. "Yes," he said. His short cut, black hair was combed carefully like he'd been at the barber's that morning to get it done. A napkin was bunched in his palm and he wiped his hands with it before stuffing it in his pocket.

"Hi. We were wondering if we cold talk to you about Guy Harper. We understand you knew him well?" Jo asked openly to encourage his reply.

"Oh!" Michael said in evident surprise. "Are, are you friends of his?" He stumbled a little on his words when he spoke.

Jo showed her badge. "Actually, I'm a Detective. Jo Martinez. This is my partner, Dr. Morgan." Jo left off my job title. It weighed too much on our interest.

"Very terrible, what happened," Michael said, grieved. "Guy was the best writer I'd ever come across. He was sharp and opinionated. You need that in journalism, a firm mind."

"Hm, maybe you should change careers, Henry," Jo hinted at my lack of reserve. For me, I was simply pointing out the obvious to those who failed to observe it.

Michael continued without request, "Guy and I met, last year, at the Belmont Stakes. Jupiter's second massive win was a shock, but I never doubted he could do it. Famed as they are, the decision to enter such an inexperienced colt was mad for the Harper's and at first it seemed the family name wouldn't be anywhere near the record book. Jupiter was second to last out the gate. You'd expect to look over at them and see the panic written on their faces, but Guy was cheering wildly all the way until the crowd joined in with him." Michael fidgeted with the tight cap on his drink, though his attention was divided and he had a poor grip.

"A good catch for your company, acquiring his name to top off your list," I said to Michael as I rocked lightly on my heels. Sweat streaked his skin, making his forehead glisten even under the shade of the trees. The thin tie around his neck hung limply from the way he'd undone it earlier and his white collar was lightly stained from regularly being damp.

"His name wasn't what I was after," Sutten said with assertion. "And Guy wasn't out for added publicity."

"When was the last time you saw Guy?" Jo asked.

"Last Thursday," Michael tried hard to recall. "He left early for a long weekend at the family estate." The cap to the iced tea in Sutten's hand finally twisted open and he drank nearly half the bottle at once before setting it down on the edge of the food truck's counter.

"We believe Guy may have had an altercation with someone in his office," Jo said.

Michael grew guarded, but despite his already profuse sweating attempted to remain calm. "I, I wasn't aware of any arguments, I hardly think..."

Abandoning his food, Michael suddenly broke into a run, or rather so he attempted. His portly disposition helped him little as he fled from us. He was certainly not one for the treadmill at the gym.

"Hey, hey! Mr. Sutten!" Jo exclaimed, dashing after him immediately. She caught him by the collar of his suit and knocked him to the ground. Sutten exclaimed in protest and attempted to resist. He swung at her, his arms flailing like a child's in a temper tantrum. Still, Jo slapped on the cuffs roughly.

"My lunch!" Michael cried. He looked at me pleadingly as I lingered beside them.

"Oh don't worry, Michael. I'm sure we can find you something at the precinct," Jo announced, her breath still fast. "Though I don't know if you'll have an appetite." Her wavy hair fell over her face as she attempted to haul him to his feet. Satisfaction was finally in her grasp and she looked quite hot from the rush of it.

"Your parents should be proud of you, Detective," I grinned down at her. "And you said you couldn't hoist sails."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I absolutely have not forgotten about this story!!! I spend practically every free moment working on it. I just had a very, very busy month, so it was tough to fit in quality writing time where I would feel confident and happy with the finished chapter. Thank you, thank you for reading! I have no intention of leaving this plot hanging. 
> 
> With Forever sadly, but officially cancelled, I'm putting everything into making this as episode like and real as possible. The next chapter is well on its way! I can't tell you how much I love creating this. I've officially fallen in love with writing Forever case fics/procedurals. 
> 
> Thanks again to everyone reading and your comments are all loved! <3


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